


Quiet Beauty

by Strange_johnlock



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Boys Kissing, Childhood Memories, Family, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Holidays, Home, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Bad At Tagging, Idiots in Love, Kissing, Love, M/M, Minor Character Death, Nature, Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series 04, Quiet, Romance, Sherlock loves his Watsons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:46:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23740291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strange_johnlock/pseuds/Strange_johnlock
Summary: John might not be as observant as the world’s only consulting detective but he has noticed the way Sherlock looks at him and then looks away when John turns his head. He has witnessed small smiles and blushes whenever they are in close proximity.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 59
Kudos: 282





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Amelia, you are working miracles so I can post my stories. Thank you <3

When they called him, John felt regret about not having talked to auntie Isla more often after he learned that she had given him her small house near Inverness. As a child, he had spent most of his holidays there, running around the meadows and playing by the brook with Harry clinging to his coat tails. Those were his fondest childhood memories, far away from their parent’s fights.

John had to go up there and have a look at the house to manage the sale, no matter how much his heart stung at the thought of giving it away to some stranger. He decided to take Rosie with him to spend a few days up there and show her around. She would love the countryside and he would enjoy seeing her learn new things.

When he mentioned it over take-away while the three of them were curled up on the sofa, the detective reacted differently than John had expected. Instead of a non-committal hum or a spurt of facts about some murder he had solved in Scotland, Sherlock looked at him, and said “Have fun” in a way that was too neutral to be honest.

John understands. Things have been good for the past few months, a routine has been established for the three of them and after everything that happened they’ve finally started to feel comfortable around each other again. It's more than that though, John might not be as observant as the world’s only consulting detective but he has noticed the way Sherlock looks at him and then looks away when John turns his head. He has witnessed small smiles and blushes whenever they are in close proximity. There were touches too, the brush of a hand against his arm or John letting his palm linger at the small of Sherlock’s back for longer than strictly necessary. It was a wonderful new development, a small, tender thing that made John’s belly flutter the moment he thought about it and going away, even for a bit, he feared would break the spell.

“Or,” John cleared his throat “You could join us and we could make a little holiday out of it.” Almost immediately he wanted to take the words back. As if a holiday sounded appealing to the smartest brain in Britain, he should have invented a case or something like that.

“Yes.” The answer was so sudden that John froze as he moved to reach out for his glass, there was a hitch to the baritone voice as Sherlock continued. “Yes, that would be acceptable.”

They booked a hotel that night and rented a car for when they were in Edinburgh. They took the train a week later as it was the most comfortable way to travel with Rosie. She could move around and they could read and play games instead of having to deal with her dislike for car rides.

And now they were there, in front of the small house framed by two spruce trees and fenced by a narrow stone wall. Once a farmhouse, it had been in the family for generations. The front garden was overgrown in a way that made it look cozy. Isla’s curtains were still visible through the white-framed windows. He almost expected her head of blonde curls to appear, he remembered exactly how she used to smile and hum while she cooked.

Beside him Sherlock just closed the car door. He was wearing his coat even though John had argued that it might not be suitable for a place like this, and a pair of sunglasses that made him look a bit like some rich guy coming up here to buy his third holiday home.

“This is just how I imagined it.” He said, coming to stand beside John, and the doctor can feel his warmth through four layers of clothing as his shoulder brushed Sherlock’s upper arm.

“Hasn’t changed a bit.” John tried not to get emotional over that fact, and he took a deep breath as he stepped through the gate, the green paint already splintering off where it moved in its hinges. Their steps sounded loud in the eerie silence of the place, John looked around only to see the car, the road, and the surrounding fields. This was a small paradise, the perfect place to turn one's brain off for a bit and find their inner child again. They would have to go behind the house to the small forest and see how much it had changed in the past twenty or thirty years.

“ I Can’t believe… Can’t believe she’s not going to come out of that door.” John stepped in front of said door, touching the wood of the old, heavy frame. The large hand on his shoulder was an immediate source of comfort and he leant into the touch a bit more as he scrambled for the key in his pocket.

There wasn’t much to show inside. Isla had a large kitchen with a dinner table tucked into the far corner and a door led to the living room and terrace. Upstairs, they found two bedrooms and a bathroom, the only room that seemed to have been renovated to make it easily accessible for a woman in her eighties.

Rosie, once Sherlock let her down to roam free, began looking into every corner, showing off random things she found on the shelves and hanging on the walls. There was so much for her to to explore and for John to rediscover. Isla’s apron was hanging by the door and John touched the chequered fabric carefully.

It feels too much, suddenly the guilt over not having visited her after he returned from Afghanistan and only calling a few times overtakes him. She had understood, of course, but he still felt guilty now.

“Let’s… I’ll show you the garden.” John said, clearing his throat. He picked Rosie up, her familiar scent an instant comfort, and walked to the sliding glass doors and into the garden.

It looked as if its owner would come back at any moment, the first blooms of spring sprouting and the flower beds prepared for planting. That wouldn’t happen yet. Still, it was better than the house right now, and John led Sherlock around while Rosie continued exploring everything.

They had some snacks under the old apple tree, enjoying the sun that was already pleasantly warm and John felt better with any minute, listening to Sherlock’s theories on the Loch Ness monster of all things.

“It is quite fascinating how people are convinced of its existence. They want her to be real.” Sherlock ended his monologue, grabbing another piece of toast to offer to Rosie. She took it from him, but decided she would rather eat it in his lap, so she crawled over, resting her head against his chest to look up into the branches of the large tree.

“I doubt they would be able to handle it, if she were ever discovered. And they wouldn’t treat her well in their scientific curiosity.”

“So, you think she’s fake then?”

“I would never have the audacity to say that out loud, John.” Sherlock grinned, and John took the excuse of brushing a crumb of bread off his coat to let his fingers rest against his collar bone for a bit. Their gazes met for a moment, before they both looked away, and the flutter in John’s belly was back, a familiar companion by now.

“Would be boring, anyway, wouldn’t it? Like, if you ever solved the Jack the ripper case, the magic would be gone.”

“Well,” Sherlock took a breath for another rant, which Rosie cut short by getting up and starting to use him as a climbing frame.

“Should we check out the woods?” John suggested, knowing he wasn’t getting any more food into his daughter anyway. “I want to see whether our favourite spot still looks the same. He doubted it, of course. Nature had the habit of changing things, especially over the span of twenty years, but it would still be beautiful there.

“Of course.” Sherlock picked Rosie off his shoulders, getting up to twirl her around, and her giggle soon turned into tears, a sign that she was getting tired. John took her from him, rocking her as they went out through the back gate and over the meadow to the line of trees. At first, they followed a path where they could easily walk next to each other. They were surrounded by the sounds of birds cheeping and the distant gurgling of the brook.

At a fork, John took only a few seconds to remember where to go and they crossed the small bridge over the brook to duck under the low hanging branch of a beech tree. The trail had grown in quite a bit, not being used as much anymore, but it was still visible.

Here, hidden away from the usual strollers lay a small paradise. 


	2. Chapter 2

The brook was wider here, running slower, surrounded by trees that opened to a small clearing. As kids they had sword fights here, imagining the towering spruces were their castles they were willing to defend until the death.

One of the trees had fallen down, it’s roots ripped out of the ground by a storm or strong wind and was laying across the brook. Glancing at the detective, he found him walking over to it and a moment later, he was balancing over the trunk, arms spread out to find balance. It looked beautiful, and John giggled, almost waking up Rosie, who by now had drifted off.

“You are ridiculous.” He said, imagining a younger Sherlock doing something like this in Sussex where he grew up. He might have played pirates instead of knights, but still, they would probably have gotten on well as kids.

Letting his eyes wander away from his friend for a moment, John took in their surroundings. The grass was still mostly dry, the new sprouts not having come in yet and the way the sun danced on it made it shimmer. White buds were slowly turning the thicket into a sea of blossoms. “This is gorgeous.” John murmured to himself while trying to take in all the details, wanting to burn them onto the back of his mind and to never forget how something this simple could be so wonderful, the mixture of memories and the knowledge that he was here with the two people he loved the most made him feel emotional.

“Crataegus,” The baritone voice behind him said. “Or Hawthorn.” John vaguely remembered auntie Isla telling him that name, when Harry and him came home with bloody arms after running through the woods like mad people. God, those scratches burned, when she cleaned them out, but they were worth the fun every time. 

A loud thud announced that Sherlock had jumped down from the tree trunk and was back on solid ground, and when he turned to him, John could see the small smile was still tugging at the corners of his mouth. He wanted to follow the lines of his lips with his thumb, to feel every small detail and then validate his findings by pressing his own mouth against them. 

Shaking off the thought, John lifted Rosie up a bit so she could rest against his shoulder more comfortably. He couldn't help but smile as she grunted in protest in her sleep, blond curls clinging against her forehead and golden lashes resting against rosy cheeks. 

He tore his gaze from her, looking up at Sherlock. Without agreeing on it verbally, they continued following the trail, their eyes finding more quiet beauty to focus on, from the large roots they had to step over, to the trees and the brook, water clear and gurgling along as they made their way deeper into the forest.

After a while, Rosie was growing heavy in his arms, and John suggested a small spot at the foot of a pine and close to the water to take a break. Sherlock gently placed his coat on the ground as they sat. There was not much to say as they listened to the water and the birds above. Even now in this place, John was very aware of Sherlock’s presence, of all the places they are touching now, legs brushing as they adjust their positions from time to time. They weren’t avoiding brushing knees or lower legs against each other and following a sudden urge, John let his head drop to rest against a broad shoulder. He wondered, if this was going too far, if they should take more time to let this thing between them grow. But as soon as his cheek met the light grey fabric of Sherlock’s shirt, there was no turning back. Sherlock turned rigid for a moment and John started regretting acting on this impulse, when the detective wrapped his arm around John’s back, pulling him closer. That made it possible for John to hide his face further against the long, lovely neck.

He was surrounded by the smell of Sherlock, could hear his breath and the low thud of his heartbeat. It is a combination of all that, which made John feel safe, the calmness of the surrounding woods now soaking through his skin and filling him.

“We,” Sherlock’s voice sounded a bit rough, and he cleared his throat. “You could keep it, you know. Come here for holidays.”

John had considered that, of course. Even with all that had happened, he was still proud to be a Watson, and selling this house that had always been so important to them felt like a betrayal. Still, he couldn’t afford to keep it. If he sold it he could at least put away money for Rosie’s education instead of having to put money into the upkeep of the house. Renting it out was off the table as well, the property just too far away from London to interact with possible tenants in a way that would make him feel comfortable.

“I can, of course, financially support you. There is no need to worry about that.” John believed him. Sherlock didn’t care much about money or giving it away, but John felt strange about accepting it. He didn’t want to ruin the moment by starting a discussion about that. Instead, he adjusted his grip around Rosie, eyes wandering over the water.

“Wouldn’t you feel bored, here?” He asked, turning his head just a bit to get more of the scent. He smiled, when a cheek carefully rested against the crown of his head. It felt lovely to be this close, John’s fingers itched to interlace with Sherlock's.

Sherlock brushed his hand over the lining of his coat between them. “I think I would feel at peace here.” He said, his voice quiet but convincing. John could feel the words resonate with him. Peace. Even with the adventures, the cases and the experiments, John had never felt more at peace, than with this man. He tilted his head up then, to meet Sherlock’s mouth with his own, in what felt like the most natural thing to do.

His lips rested against Sherlock’s cupid bow for a moment, just taking in the warmth and softness of them, and that on it’s own was quite fantastic. Pulling back, he opened his eyes, wanting to gage his friend’s reaction, finding him moving back into the kiss already, and who was John to deny him that? It was slow, visible but unspoken for with tender touches. Sherlock’s lips parted under his, answering every movement with one of his own, slowly growing more confident. They gave everything they had, pouring in their love and their doubt, the pain and the trust into the kiss and the mixture was addictive.

John felt the need to curl his fingers into the fabric of the grey shirt but had to keep them around Rosie instead. Sherlock had none such restrictions, his hands reaching up to rest against the back of the doctor’s neck, his thumb stroking up to brush over the short hair there. The feeling made John’s heart pound impossibly harder John quickly focused on the warm, pliant lips under his.

The kiss didn’t break the peace of the scenery, instead, it corresponded with the low murmur of the brook, a constant flow of slow touches. There was potential and a simmering electricity just underneath the surface but exploring it would be left for another time. For now, the feeling of being connected was most important. 

John knew it was only the beginning of something, a spring that would turn into summer and would hopefully not see autumn too soon. John was at peace, just here, forehead resting against Sherlock’s while holding his daughter close to his chest. He hoped he would take some of that peace back to London and for them to grow and heal as a family, and if they felt a need for it, they could always come back to the brook to sit under the pine trees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I thought this was just a one shot, but now the story isn't letting me go… I really want to continue this! What do you think?

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired by the woods behind my house. I'm so grateful to be able to retreat there whenever I want. In times like this, the beauty of nature is a cure to the chaos in my head. It's peaceful, and beautiful, and it inspired my to write this story.
> 
> I made a Ko-fi a while ago. I never promoted it, but now my laptop is about to die and I can't afford a new one right now. If you could support me, even a little bit, that. Would help me immensely. I appreciate all of you very much, Ko-fi or no, and your kind words mean the world.  
> https://ko-fi.com/strange_johnlock


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